


A New Arrangement

by Beatrice_Otter



Category: Agent Carter (TV)
Genre: Canon Jewish Character, F/M, Female Jewish Character, Marriage, Pre-Canon, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-02
Updated: 2018-06-02
Packaged: 2019-05-17 04:25:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14825205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beatrice_Otter/pseuds/Beatrice_Otter
Summary: Edwin and Ana love each other, and they're grateful to Mr. Stark.  But there are still a lot of details to figure out in their new life.





	A New Arrangement

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Selena](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Selena/gifts).



The first—and only—time Edwin tried to dress Mr. Stark, it did not go well.

The trip from Hungary to England had been anxiety-producing in many ways, some of the problems solved by Mr. Stark, and some of them created by him. Being back in London was odd in many ways, not least of which was the sensation of being one of a very few able-bodied men not directly involved in the war effort in one way or another. (He would choose Ana over England, had chosen that way, but he still loved England and he very much wanted them to _win_.) Very well; he himself could no longer serve, but he could serve Mr. Stark, who was critical to the war effort.

The problem was, how? He and Ana spent the first few days organizing Mr. Stark's London residence, which desperately needed it. Arranging meals and the timing of baths was difficult because Mr. Stark's schedule was … erratic. (Indeed, he did not even know how long they would be staying in London before moving to America.) But on about the fifth day, Edwin finally managed to time drawing the bath and setting out the clothes so that they were ready just when Mr. Stark woke up. The bath went well. The rest …

It wasn't just that Mr. Stark had no idea how to _be_ dressed. Edwin, having grown up in service, had been a batman for all his time in the British Army, and most of _that_ as the only batman assigned to a rotating group of junior officers, most of whom were too middle-class to have ever had a valet. He'd only dressed them for formal occasions, but they'd all had at least a vague idea of what a valet was supposed to do, and were generally happy to follow his gentle instructions and let him do his job.

Mr. Stark had no idea what the role of _any_ servant was. And he was constitutionally incapable of standing still. And he was so busy talking that he didn't pay any attention at all to Edwin's instructions.

The fourth or fifth time they'd collided, Stark had thrown his hands up.

"No, see, this isn't going to work," he said. "I don't care what the upper-crust of England do in their own bedrooms. What _I_ am going to do in my own bedroom is dress myself. What _you_ are going to do is make sure everything's ready to go."

"Very good, sir," Edwin had said, with a brief bow. He stepped back to wait for Mr. Stark to finish dressing.

"And I don't need you staring at me while I do it, either. Scram."

"Very good, sir," Edwin said, with a slightly stiffer bow. He left the room and went downstairs to where Ana was washing up the breakfast dishes. The radio was on, playing classical music softly.

He took up a towel and began drying.

"Done so soon?" she asked.

"Mr. Stark does not care to be dressed," Edwin said. "Just as he does not care to be shaved. Or chauffeured. Or to have his desk or workspace tidied." And given that Mr. Stark apparently spent little time in his London apartment, instead working all hours in his laboratory with the Strategic Scientific Reserve and then out to the clubs, before collapsing into bed near dawn and then waking to do the same again, that left little for Edwin to actually _do_.

As a boy, he'd dreamed of a job where he could have time to himself more than a half-day a week. But this was ridiculous.

"Well, maybe things will change when we go to America," Ana said. "He has a larger house there, doesn't he?"

"More than one, he's said," Edwin replied. "I'm sure there will be a great deal to clean. But I hardly think his personal habits will change much; just an endless round of work, which he cannot share because it is classified, and parties, which he does not host himself. Although I suppose he might host parties in his own home, when he has an entire house and not merely a flat." Mr. Stark did have a number of residences, including more than one house. But Edwin rather doubted, from things he had said, that Mr. Stark had adequate staff to maintain all of his residences. If Edwin was not to be a valet, perhaps he would function more as a butler, though he was not optimistic about the success of _that_ , either. A butler managed the household, and there seemed to be very little household to manage.

It might be good to make a home someplace other than England, Edwin reflected. As of late, his relationship with his homeland had been … fraught. And if all Americans were as ignorant of proper servant roles as Mr. Stark was, Edwin would not need to fear judgment for failing to serve such a peculiar man.

"Well, we'll be together," Ana said. "And things could be much worse."

"They could indeed," Edwin said, reflecting on what would probably have happened both to him, and, more distressingly, to Ana, had Mr. Stark not intervened. Edwin would take a boring job he was wasted in, to have Ana safe with him.

The radio was now playing a Strauss waltz. "May I have this dance, Mrs. Jarvis?" he asked, tossing the towel on the counter.

"I would be delighted, Mr. Jarvis," Ana said with a grin, wiping her hands on her apron and stepping into his arms.

They hadn't even made it halfway across the kitchen when Mr. Stark called. "Jarvis? I changed my mind, I do want you driving me in today, I've got a lot of stuff to read before that meeting."

Ana sighed, gave him a peck on the lips, and went back to the sink to finish the dishes. Edwin straightened his waistcoat and went out to Mr. Stark.

* * *

Ana stared out the window as Edwin drove off in the car with Mr. Stark.

It was the first time Ana had been alone—really alone, for more than an hour or two—since escaping from Hungary. In many ways, it was a relief to not be hovered over, and yet there was a sinking feeling in her gut, as if the British army would break in and steal her away to return her to the Nazis. (Certainly, if Edwin's former general had his way, they would.)

She shook her head. That was foolish; now that the war had started, the British Army had more important matters to attend to than one lone foreign Jewish woman married to an Englishman under unusual circumstances.

(Though, who knew what the _Hungarian_ Army might be doing to her family and friends back home, even now? Hungary was desperate to stay in Hitler's good books, and Hitler hated her people so fiercely. In a few short years, Hungary had gone from a homeland to an enemy, and even now Ana wasn't quite sure how it had all gone so wrong so quickly.)

"What am I going to do with myself?" she wondered, shoving her fear away. It would her no good, and it would certainly not help her family. She couldn't go back to Hungary and give her family the sort of daring rescue she herself had found, but she _could_ figure out what to do in the foreign land she found herself in. She did love Edwin, of course, would love him even if she didn't owe him her safety and freedom; but it was unsettling to be so dependent on him and on Mr. Stark. Especially as, over the last several days, it had become quite obvious that neither of them had the least idea of how to take her into account as they made plans.

Ana was not a cook. Nor was she a housekeeper. She was a seamstress, and a sales girl, and quite good at both. Yet Edwin was assuming they would be traditional British servants, instead of, say, him serving Mr. Stark and her finding a tailor shop or boutique to work at. It wasn't that she _couldn't_ cook—she was decent in the kitchen—but she was certainly not up to the sort of quality a professional cook needed. And she had no ambitions to train up to that standard. If she wanted to do nothing but cook and keep house, she could have gone into service in Budapest. Or married, instead of going to work in the hotel.

She picked up one of the cookbooks on the shelf, and sat down to read. It took very little time for her to give it up in frustration. Her English was serviceable, polished through talking to tourists and watching American movies. Her ability to _read_ English was terribly bad; it would be much more productive to wait and do this with Edwin here.

She put the book back on the shelf and eyed the pantry and its stock of food. Some of it was familiar to her, but much was not. The same thing was true of the icebox. She'd never eaten bacon in her life, and certainly didn't know how to cook it. She knew how to cook traditional _Hungarian_ Jewish foods. Her mouth watered at the thought of ines, goose fat rolled in paprika and chilled, a treat she'd always loved, but where would she get either goose fat or paprika? Especially when they were starting to restrict so may foods? Perhaps it would be better in America. (Did Americans eat goose?)

Ana opened the icebox again and stared at the bacon. She'd lived and played and worked with gentiles her whole life, and though her family wasn't very observant they'd gotten their meat from a kosher butcher. If you had asked her, in Hungary, if she had an objection to eating pork, she would have said no, it just wasn't what she was used to. Yet here and now, far from home and most of the people and things she held dear, she discovered that it mattered more to her than she had thought.

And how would Edwin respond if she refused? He'd assured her he wouldn't blame her for being Jewish, or ask her to convert, but … would that last, now that they were married? She wanted to trust him, but their courtship had been such a whirlwind … Not to mention how Mr. Stark might respond. And she owed both of them her life.

She shook her head. It seemed like a petty thing to worry about, when she knew the danger her family and friends were in back home. (She hoped and prayed that she was wrong, that she was over-reacting, that it would all pass quickly and things would go back to normal as her brothers had been insisting they would, any day now.) But there was nothing she could do for them. She was here, in relative safety, and they … were not. She couldn't save them, or help them, or do anything for them besides maybe helping Mr. Stark build the weapons that would defeat the Axis. And, hopefully, stay true to her heritage even now, so far away from home.

She shook her head. Edwin was wonderful, but he thought her problems were pretty much solved, now she was physically safe. She longed to talk with someone who might understand, someone who shared at least some of her experiences. And while she couldn't contact her family—she'd written them a letter, but who knew if it would reach them, or where she would be when they wrote back—she knew how to find people _here_ who might understand.

She dug through the drawers until she found a telephone directory. Now, how did they spell 'synagogue' in English?

* * *

"—and I'm telling you, Jarvis, I am _this close_ to reducing gas consumption in the internal combustion engines by _ten percent_ , if I can just get the calculations right," Mr. Stark said as Edwin opened the door to the flat for him.

"Indeed, sir? I believe the British Army, the farmers, and the general population will all be most grateful," Edwin said. Petrol was strictly rationed for the duration of the war, and already there were shortages.

"Though probably not grateful enough to overlook me going for joyrides," Mr. Stark said. "They just don't understand how gunning through a tight curve can clear a man's mind and open up the ol' gray matter."

"They are indeed a most humorless lot, sir." Edwin helped him off with his coat, ears straining for any trace of Ana. He'd called, to let her know when they would be home and that Mr. Stark would be having supper at home, but there had been no answer. Had there been some sort of trouble?

"You're telling me, Jarvis, you're telling me," Howard said, oblivious to Edwin's distraction. He nattered on about his day for a while before Edwin was able to excuse himself to go look for Ana.

She wasn't in the pantry, the kitchen, or their bedroom. Edwin was just coming back to check the kitchen again, as if she'd been hiding under the sink, when she came in through the servant's entrance, unwrapping the scarf around her head.

" _There_ you are!" Edwin exclaimed, feeling greatly relieved. He went to help with her coat and the parcel she was carrying.

"I'm so sorry for worrying you," Ana said, embracing him as soon as her arms were free. "If I'd known I'd be this late, I would have left a note telling you where I was going. I'm afraid I got on the wrong underground line, and it took me a while to figure out how to get back."

"You never had trouble on the Budapest metro," Edwin said, confused.

"Yes, but in Budapest I can read the signs and I know the city," Ana said. "I figured it out, and next time I shall not make the same mistake, but I hadn't thought I would get quite _that_ lost. And people were not very helpful, or at least not once they heard me speak." She gave him a rueful smile. Though she had stepped back out of the embrace, she kept his hand held tightly in hers.

Edwin sighed. _He_ thought Ana's accent was charming, but too many Englishmen would find it merely foreign. "Next time, I can go with you."

"Perhaps," Ana said. "But my dear Edwin, I cannot always be dependent on you for everything, and I _can_ find my way, even in an unfamiliar country."

He kissed her hand. "It is so hard to believe you are really here, and safe," he said. "I know it is silly, but I keep half-expecting something to happen to you."

"I do, too," Ana said.

"And then I got home, and you weren't here. I fell in love with your courage and your wit, and I know you've faced far worse than the London Underground—"

"We both have," Ana said.

"—so I shall try to keep that in mind in the future," Edwin said. "But yes, a note would be appreciated. Where _did_ you go? I wasn't aware you knew anyone in London."

"I didn't," Ana said. She hesitated, looking him up and down. "I went to a synagogue."

"A … oh," Edwin said. He frowned. "They have services on Thursdays?"

"No, Shabbos starts at sundown on Friday," Ana said. "But you and Mr. Stark are the only people I know in the whole country, and I was feeling homesick. The rabbi didn't speak Hungarian, of course, but my Yiddish isn't bad, and he was very kind." She was still watching him carefully, and her hands were clasped very tightly. She looked—she looked _nervous_ , Jarvis thought, though he had never seen her that way before. Cheerful, yes; afraid, certainly, in the worst parts of their escape when all seemed lost. Blindingly angry, once or twice. But never _nervous_.

Edwin was a little taken aback. "Ana … are you worried I would be upset that you went to a synagogue? I know you're Jewish. That was why we needed Mr. Stark's help to get you out of Hungary."

She grimaced. "Yes. Well, some people may say they do not mind and yet they do. I did not _think_ you would be one of them, but I could not tell."

"I fell in love with you for who you are," Edwin said. "If I wanted to marry a Christian, well, there are many Christian girls out there who would be pleased to be Mrs. Jarvis. I chose _you_."

"And I chose you," Ana said, stepping closer to him and putting a hand on his chest. "And I think we both chose well."

And at that, of course, he had to kiss her. It was still such a wonderful new thing, being able to kiss whenever they liked. And she was so very delightfully enthusiastic—

"Hey, Mrs. Jarvis, what's for dinner?" Stark called.

"He does have the most _appalling_ timing," Edwin said. Somehow, being at his master's beck and call had never been so onerous.

"It's like he knows when there is something to interrupt," Ana said.

* * *

Ana stepped back from her husband's embrace and grabbed her apron, tying it on as she went to ask what Mr. Stark wanted for dinner. “I’m sorry I don’t have anything started, Mr. Stark, I got on the wrong line on the Underground and didn’t get back when I planned.”

Mr. Stark waved this off. “It’s hell to get anywhere in London, they never heard of a grid or straight roads. I’m feeling like breakfast for dinner, how about eggs and bacon?”

And there it was. Ana had hoped to have longer to prepare for this, and learn the best way to handle him. She hoped that his willingness to help her escape—and protect Edwin for his role in doing so—would be manifest in continued tolerance. “Mr. Stark,” she said carefully. “I have never learned how to cook pork products. I don’t know how to make American food, and though I am very willing to expand my repertoire, not so wide as to include bacon.” Edwin was standing in the doorway behind her, and she was sure he was unhappy. Despite his experience with his general, Edwin was not a man used to denying authority what it wanted. “Edwin is a very competent chef, and I am sure he would be happy to cook any pork products you desire.”

Stark tilted his head, staring at her through narrowed eyes. “You’re a seamstress, not a cook.”

“Yes, sir,” Ana said. “I also worked briefly in an office. I can learn, but right now the best dish I could make on short notice is kugel. It's sort of baked potato pudding.”

Stark had a curious look on his face. "Why not, it'll be like being back on the lower east side. Tonight, kugel, tomorrow morning, eggs and bacon, and tomorrow afternoon we get on a boat for America. I don’t need another secretary, but there’s a lot more things I’d like to have someone else handle than just cooking and cleaning and dressing me. We’ll get it figured out."

Ana breathed a sigh of relief. "That sounds like a plan, Mr. Stark.”

* * *

Mr. Stark ate his kugel with the same gusto he did everything, and gave his compliments to the cook. Edwin did not mind it, though of course he preferred the solid English cooking he was used to. Still, variety was the spice of life, and all that, and he supposed he would get used to all the paprika. After supper, Edwin and Ana did the dishes together and then played cards until it was time to retire for the evening.

Edwin was deeply engrossed in removing his wife's brassiere and kissing the skin thus revealed when Stark roared for his attention.

"Hey, Jarvis, where are my burets?" And then, when Edwin didn't respond fast enough, "Jarvis? You haven't gone to bed yet, have you?"

Ana groaned and flopped back on the bed, clutching at her hair.

"He really does have the _worst_ timing," Edwin said, buttoning his shirt back up. Ana looked lovely like that, _en déshabillé_ , even with the scowl she was currently wearing.

"I think we shall have to be very firm about what hours we are and are not working," Ana said, "or else _I_ , at least, will very shortly forget my gratitude. We must have _some_ time to ourselves!"

"I cannot disagree, my dear," Edwin said, although he quailed a bit at telling his employer that.

"He was not upset at all when I told him I would not cook bacon," Ana pointed out. She got up from the bed and helped him with his waistcoat. "I don't think he minds people standing up to him, and I _know_ he walks all over people who don't." She gave him a deep kiss. "His bark is worse than his bite. Be firm. And come back to me quickly." __  
  
"Jarvis!" Stark yelled again. Really, their neighbors would be complaining, soon.

"Right," Edwin said, giving Ana a peck on the cheek. "I will be back soon." And off he went to follow his wife's instructions.


End file.
